Escape from LA : Red Rain
by Zephyr5
Summary: Snake Plissken wanted to change the world...and failed. Since then he's avoided certain aspects of his past. But when his past finally catches up with him, and he's presented with the golden opportunity to succeed where he failed before...what will he do?


Category: Movie 

Sub Category: Escape from NY/LA

Title: Escape from LA : Red Rain

Genres: Action (I'd say mystery, but if you've seen the film you'll know most of the plot already)

Language: English

Author: Zephyr5

Rating: R

Summary: Snake Plissken wanted to change the world...and failed. Since then he's avoided certain aspects of his past. But when his past finally catches up with him, and he's presented with the golden opportunity to succeed where he failed before...what will he do?

Warnings: Well, we're rated for: Language, violence and adult situations, including the non-explicit mention of repeated past non-consensual sex (ie. rape) Consider yourselves warned.

Spoiler Warnings: Yes...that is, if you haven't watched the film, then you'll only need it to fill in certain details (as well as what actually happens in the section the original character takes over) if you read this first.

Disclaimers: Snake Plissken and anything canon is not mine. The verse at the end IS mine, hands off :p Red is also mine, but if you want her, fruitcake that she is, she's all yours... Fox Montoya is an original character to the best of my knowledge, I apologise profusely if I've accidentally nicked someone else's character, it wasn't intentional.

AN: My first 'Escape' fic, committing the cardinal sin of throwing an original and a lot of background into the canon plot. Oh well, it wanted out of my system, proven by the fact that I've been researching/writing this fic for... does double take on glancing at clock and finding it's 5:36am um, about 18 hours straight... Anyway, even if everyone hates the sheer amount of canon plot in this fic, and even if everyone absolutely loathes my poor original character, for better or worse, it's out of my system and posted for everyone to laugh at :( Oh, and if anyone decides to MST this, pleeease let me know so I can go have a laugh :D

Oh yeah, and CAPITALS are emphasis rather than volume - I wrote this in notepad, and it's too early in the morning for me to be bothered with polishing the formatting. The section breaks will get replaced by horizontal rules if censored removes them...if you're lucky.

Geh, and a few notes on abbreviations: SF Special Forces (American), SAS Special Air Service (British), LA Los Angeles (America), NY New York (America), CO Commanding Officer

Also (yes, I've been up for nearly 20 hours straight now, forgive my lack of brain), anyone who hasn't seen the 'new' original opening sequence for Escape from NY, it involves Snake and 'Taylor' robbing the federal reserve depository, only to be caught at San Francisco where Taylor is killed. It's this crime that Snake gets sent to NY for (although the NY sleeve calls it an 'armed' robbery, the footage shows no weaponry at all on the part of the robbers).

I'll stop rambling now and let you read...

* * *

**Escape from LA : Red Rain**

* * *

Snake Plissken glowered around the almost carnival atmosphere of Sunset Boulevard, his gaze taking in everything, despite seeming to brush over everything without actually seeing it. This was where Cuervo Jones was supposed to be parading, yet there seemed to be no sign of him. Maybe the 'parade' was later...or maybe the girl had been lying to him when she pointed him in this direction. Still, at this point even a false lead was better than no leads at all, although he grudged every second of time wasted - these could be his last hours after all. 

"Plissken." The sudden voice at his hip drew attention that he could have done without, but nothing that a harsh glare didn't dispel as he responded, voice surly.

"Yeah? Go ahead." He kept scanning the crowd, listening and watching for anything that might indicate the first signs of trouble - or Cuervo's supposed 'parade'.

"Did you find the team member?" Snake suppressed a snort of derision.

"Yeah, they're using him for target practice. He's not gonna be much help." Was that...? He frowned into the crowd, trying to pick out whoever, or whatever, had just caused alarm bells of familiarity to begin clanging furiously.

"What're you gonna do?" His 'boss' promptly demanded.

"See what turns up." Snake answered, somewhat distractedly, attempting to catch another glimpse of a cloaked figure in the crowd.

"What?" He ignored the demand from the radio. The crowd had finally parted as a gust of wind knocked the hood of the figure's cloak back off their head, and Snake could only curse softly in his head as he stared at what had to be a ghost...

* * *

She cursed the wind in six different languages as her hood fell back at the most inopportune moment. Every instinct she had screamed that she'd been made, and so, abandoning her attempt at slipping away stealthily, she went into full-out 'escape' mode. 

"Shit." Snake barely spared the moment necessary to safely hook the radio back into his belt before dashing in pursuit of the red-head who'd just bolted. If it WAS who he thought it was - and there was no other reason for her to have bolted if it WASN'T - then he couldn't afford to lose sight of her. Unfortunately, dodging and weaving through the crowds of people and merchants, that was easier to say than do.

* * *

Snake slowed to a halt on the edge of the Boulevard. The road ahead was wide and free of any obstructions - it was also empty. There was nothing, no scrap of clothing, no freshly fallen debris, not even any sound to indicate the presence of another person in the immediate vicinity. She'd pulled a fade on him...damn it all to hell. 

"Malloy." He continued walking down the road as he spoke into the radio, heading towards flickering lights and a seemingly occupied shack in the distance.

"I'm here Plissken. Have you got the black box?" Snake didn't waste his energy rolling his eyes, he'd known right from the start what Malloy's priorities were after all...but it didn't ease his curiosity over what the hell was in the box.

"Negative. Why the hell didn't you tell me Red was out here? Do you have any idea how complex she can make this situation?" More than likely he was quite aware, Snake knew they would have access to her records...or the majority of them - just as they had access to the majority of his records.

"I don't need to know what your problems are Plissken, I just want my black box." Figured, Snake thought sourly. "You've got seven and a half hours. Do you read me?" Irritated by Malloy's attitude - it behoved him to get rid, or at least help smooth over, any problems in order to expedite recovery of his damned box - Snake stopped walking, turning to scan the road behind him.

"Listen to me, Malloy. If Red's helping this guy then you can kiss your precious little box goodbye. If she's neutral then I may still need to work a deal out with her, and that'll take time, you understand?" He didn't bother adding what the situation would be if Red was against Cuervo; the black box would've been returned - probably gift wrapped along with the President's daughter, or at least her head - before they'd even concocted this insane scheme to send him after it.

"You listen to me, Plissken. That little headache that just kicked in, will only get worse. You're starting to feel the effects of the virus. Soon you'll have a fever, followed by a lack of energy. Now, you bear that in mind. Just push on through soldier." Snake sneered dismissively at the President's words, and killed the connection. Headaches he could deal with, fever he could deal with...but it also meant that he had longer than his timer suggested, since he would be no use to them after he lacked the energy to continue onwards.

The question was, HOW much longer?

Well, he was without any leads now - unless he cared to head back to Sunset Boulevard, which he didn't, in the hopes that he hadn't missed Cuervo's 'parade'; the way his luck seemed to be going, he doubted it. Looking around as he hooked the radio back onto his belt, Snake spotted a fallen sun chair on the steps of the shack. With nothing better to do, he headed over to it, righted it, and decided to see what happened next.

What happened was yet another aftershock, almost as if the ground itself were having a good laugh at his predicament. But it wasn't the aftershock that sent a can clattering to the ground behind him, and Snake sprang out of the chair, gun in hand and finger on trigger as a nondescript man came into view, hurriedly placing his hands in the air.

"Whoa! Don't shoot, don't shoot!" Snake glared, gun steady, ears pricked for any other untoward noise that might indicate an ambush. "I thought it was you." The man was already grating on his nerves. "Yeah, I recognised you right away. Oh, I've been hanging out around here for more years than I care to remember, but I never thought I'd see Snake Plissken cruising Sunset Boulevard." If this babbling moron said something as inane as 'I thought you were dead' or 'I thought you'd be taller', he was going to shoot him... "It's a real pleasure to meet you, I'm Map To The Stars Eddie." He held his hand out, seemingly not registering the fact that Snake's corresponding hand was currently quite full of cocked and loaded gun, which happened to now be at almost point-blank range with his chest. Snake's finger itched, but it was entirely possible that this seeming fruitcake knew something about Cuervo Jones - his type needed all the latest information to survive.

"Where's Cuervo Jones' place?" Eddie finally glanced down at the gun and slowly pulled his hand back, the smile seeming a bit more forced. He ignored it as he replied however.

"Ohh...he's the man with the JUICE Snake, he's got the President's daughter, he's setting up something big, but I got a feeling you know all about that, right?" Idly Snake wondered where all the breath Eddie was wasting came from, and if he'd be more helpful limited to a single lung... Leaning in, and bringing the muzzle of the gun to dig into the soft flesh under Eddie's lower jaw - a single shot now would splatter the chattering idiot's brains, assuming he had any, right out of the top of his skull - Snake's glare intensified.

"Location." He breathed, hoping the gun's threat would scare some concision into the response. It worked.

"That way." Eddie gestured on down the road after a rather cross-eyed glance at the gun. Snake nodded in approval and began to draw back, still keeping the gun aimed at Eddie's chest. "If you're going through Beverly Hills, you're gonna need a map." Snake suppressed a sigh as Eddie went into full merchant-mode, reaching into his jacket for what was no doubt going to be a highly expensive item of no use or interest to him whatsoever. "It's pre-recorded. I narrated it myself." Eddie revealed a remote-control unit, and Snake lowered the gun all the way - he'd give him the courtesy of a chance to provide something useful...not that he expected much to come of it.

'Welcome to your very own map to the stars.' Came the recorded voice.

"That's me." Eddie pointed out somewhat redundantly.

'Sure, we all know the big one wiped out the entertainment industry here in LA, but the glamour and excitement of Hollywood is still alive,' Snake glanced back the way he'd come - still nothing - and then back at the irritating recording. 'So come with me and see where the stars...' He walked away without a backwards glance, ignoring Eddie as he continued to shout after him.

"Hey Snake, you're gonna need this, I'm telling you. I'll give you a deal. Fifty thousand bucks. That's a real bargain!" Snake kept walking, vanishing into the comforting darkness beyond the 'Beverly Hills' road sign, and its added warning of 'Quiet, surgical zone'.

* * *

Snake Plissken in LA...well, it'd been bound to happen sooner or later. She'd just expected it to be later dammit, and with a bit more warning to boot. Still, she'd managed the fade, JUST. For all that she was the faster runner, he had the stamina, and it wouldn't have taken a much longer chase to shift the balance in his favour. 

Crouched on the down slope of the roadside opposite Eddie's shack, concealed only by the darkness and absolute immobility, she listened silently to the radio chatter, and then the encounter between Snake and Cuervo's lackey. It was clear - as if it hadn't been before - that Snake had once again been 'persuaded' to do 'the man's' job and retrieve...something. The question was, HOW had he been persuaded, and how likely was it that this 'Malloy' - he hadn't been the one in charge when she'd come in, so she had no idea of his character - would keep his word?

Then there was the 'black box'. Whatever was in that box had to be hella important if Cuervo was so convinced he could use it to not only get out of LA, but break everyone else out with him. She'd dismissed it at first, assuming that even the President's daughter wouldn't have been allowed near something so important, and even if she was, that the security around it would have prevented her from simply pocketing it. With Snake's sudden appearance, however, the odds were upped considerably in favour of Cuervo being correct. Whatever was in that box, it was important enough to have the President himself rattled...and it was probably of time-limited importance.

Hmm...LA HAD been a bit boring lately, and if there was one thing she knew, it was that things were NEVER boring around Snake Plissken. The question was, would he assume she was working against him? It would be too close to call between them if they ended up hunting each other, because neither of them would risk anything less than their all, and until the inevitable day when they WERE hunting each other, she would rather avoid the whole issue. He hadn't shot her earlier...but then that might have just been due to his surprise at seeing her at all.

Fuck. She listened to the sounds of his footsteps growing fainter. He was heading straight into Beverly Hills without, well, not without a care in the world, but certainly without any effort at stealth. Then again, that was Snake's style, barge right in and shoot any objectors. Double fuck. She made her mind up...

* * *

The road was deserted and eerily silent as he strode towards Beverly Hills. Snake wasn't fool enough to think that he would be able to simply march all the way to Cuervo Jones' place without trouble, but then again, he didn't have the luxury of time in which to sneak past everyone on the route either. He figured, as long as he kept his wits and his arsenal about him, that he'd spot trouble soon enough to avoid it, or at least prepare for it's arrival. 

He slowed as he reached a road intersection and a faintly lit area ahead, hearing and seeing cars with lights and sirens approaching. Spotting heavily cloaked figures with flaming torches, he backed into the shadowed fringes of the bushes at the roadside and crouched, watching events carefully. There was a faint sound of breathing further over, but it sounded quick and shallow - someone else was hiding here...and watching the vehicles he could understand why.

Bodies - he couldn't tell whether they were alive or dead - were pulled from the ambulances by the robed figures, and he highly doubted it was so they could patch them up and send them on their way. Before he could analyse their actions any further however, the other person hiding in the bushes moved towards him.

His head snapped around to face the movement, hand half raising the core burner - if he had to fire, every...thing over at the ambulances would hear it, and he didn't fancy his chances against a small army, whether they were armed or not.

"Ssssh! Stay down man, or they'll see you." The woman hissed, gesturing for him to stay put with one hand. "This is only their second shift; you make ONE move and we're done!" He looked away in exasperation - did she realise how much noise she was making? "And don't make noise - if you want to make noise, go and find another bush."

"You're the one making all the noise." He muttered, deciding on a course of action. First he would leave this bush - the safety of which was being quite effectively compromised - and then he would backtrack and make his way AROUND Beverly Hills. It was too dangerous to cut straight through with the resources he had, or rather, that he didn't have, and he didn't have time to spare waiting for it to become safe - if it ever was.

He slid out from the shadows, attention still on the figures around the ambulances, so that he didn't notice the hooded figure across the road until he was fully out on the sidewalk. Snake froze, calculating whether he could kill the figure silently before it raised an outcry...and then realised he'd already walked straight into the trap. A glance to his left confirmed it - another robed figure with some sort of large net gun.

"Ah, shit!" He tensed, ready to try a futile sprint at the one with the net, but a whisper of movement in shadows too dark to be shadow checked the action.

The net fired...and was knocked off-course and pinned to the slight embankment where the bushes were by a crude javelin. Seconds later the figure holding the net gun slumped to the ground, his last breaths gurgling out of the ruin Snake's throwing knife had made of his throat. Twisting to the side, a second knife ready to throw at the first figure, Snake found the job already done and Red, concealing cloak abandoned, cleaning her knife as she retrieved it, eyes watching him warily.

Snake relaxed marginally, only to straighten and spin at the sound of a struggle in the bushes where the woman was hiding. He had no obligation to rescue her; he didn't know her, and it was highly likely to have been her warnings to him that had alerted them to their presence in the first place.

"Others will be coming." Red's voice was pitched low and quiet. "Let's go." With a last, unemotional glance at the captured woman's frantic eyes, Snake faded into the welcoming shadows after Red.

* * *

Snake was annoyingly difficult to read, but she was hoping that the fact he hadn't tried to kill her yet was a good omen. Then again, he had yet to say anything one way or the other, and she knew from past experience that silence from Snake in this sort of situation was a BAD omen. She slowed to a walk, mildly irked by the fact that she was nearly out of breath, whilst he was barely breathing heavily. They were far enough from the Surgeon General's HQ to be relatively safe, and it wouldn't do to go too far out of the way if Snake, as it had seemed, was going to want to get to Cuervo Jones' place on the far side of Beverly Hills territory. 

"So what they controlling you with this time?" Red asked, bullishly tackling the tension in the air head on, whilst simultaneously avoiding the actual subject that was no doubt responsible for some of that tension. As soon as the question left her lips, she knew she'd probably not phrased it as diplomatically as she could, and that Snake had taken objection to said phrasing. She knew this because there was now a gun muzzle digging rather uncomfortably into the underside of her jaw.

"Tell me why I shouldn't finish what I started in Phoenix..." Snake growled, eye narrowed dangerously.

"Because this," Red increased the pressure on her knife, pressed dangerously against his groin, "can and will do permanent damage that, even if it doesn't directly kill you, WILL ensure you miss your deadline..." Her own eyes narrowed in warning. "I suggest you don't even make me SUSPECT you're about to pull that trigger."

"Touché..." Snake muttered, still looking unhappy, but carefully pulling the gun away nonetheless. Warily Red slipped the knife back into its sheath.

"So? What they nail you with?"

"Plutoxin Seven..." He trailed off at her ill-concealed snort of laughter. "What's so funny?" He demanded. Red shook her head.

"Nothing funny about it at all I should imagine, from YOUR perspective anyway." She smirked. "I just love the irony that I happen to have a few doses of the cure lying around..." There was a long pause.

"And what's your price?" Snake finally asked. She considered for a moment, tempted to see how far she could push him...but he HAD refrained from demanding the obvious - how could he trust her to have a genuine cure - so she supposed he deserved a price he could meet.

"I want in on the deal you have with this Malloy guy."

"The only deal between me and Malloy is that I get to live if I get their black box out." Snake responded curtly. Red shrugged.

"Unless they were planning to come in and get it, you gotta get it out to them somehow - I figure I can hitch a lift on your ride."

"A one-man nuclear sub?" Red grinned toothily.

"We've been in tighter spots. Besides," she added, "if they got you with Plutoxin, you won't have wasted time getting here, and knowing you, that means the sub's already scrap."

"Alright." Snake conceded. "The antidote and your backup getting this damn box, in return for a ride out."

"Backup?" Red tilted her head and smirked at him. "I never said anything about backup. Sure I've got a vested interest in keeping you alive - for now - but that doesn't mean I'm getting enough to stick my neck out for you."

"You already know I have a way out." Snake pointed out, silently admitting that she had a point. "Why don't you prove to me you have the antidote? Then I won't have to put you out of the way permanently right now, and take my chances on Malloy's word." There was a long silence whilst Red seemed to weigh her options.

"Alright."

* * *

She was acting unlike herself, and that fact, coupled with the fact that she knew exactly WHY she was acting that way, was bugging the hell out of her. Much as it galled her to admit it, she'd MISSED Snake after the Phoenix incident had led to their acrimonious parting of ways. What galled her the most about it though, was the fact that she highly doubted Snake felt the same way, which, in her eyes, was a victory for him over her...they'd always had a 'competitive' relationship. 

There was also the niggling worry of how he'd react when he saw the supposed 'cure'. Whilst it genuinely WAS the cure, he was almost guaranteed to recognise it and call her on it. After that...well, best case outcome was that they both survived, worst case outcome...they both died of their wounds - eventually.

* * *

Red was tense but not overly wary of her surroundings, suggesting to Snake that he was currently the most dangerous thing in the area, besides Red herself. Still, he kept a wary eye out, and the core burner ready in his hand. LA, like New York, wasn't a place where falling into the error of complacency would be rewarded with anything less than death. 

"How far?" He glanced at his timer - a little over six and a half hours remaining.

"We're here." Red halted, suiting her words, and crouched over a manhole cover. The lid lifted on her second attempt, not by much, but enough for her to pull it a little way out of the depression and onto the road surface. Shifting her grip to the gap created, her hiss of effort was lost in the harsh scrape of metal on tarmac. "You wanna go down first, or do I get the honour?" He considered, glancing at his surroundings out of habit. There didn't seem to be movement indicating a possible ambush...

"You." She nodded once - no sounds that might have warned an ambush party below that she would be coming down first - then gracefully and quickly descended into the darkness. He waited for a count of five, then followed, pulling the manhole cover back into place with far more ease than she had removed it.

* * *

She hadn't, unsurprisingly, taken him to any of her more important safe 'holes', just the nearest one with a stash of flu 'cure' capsules. It was one of the few illnesses she seemed to have an annoyingly low immunity to, so she had plenty of the medicine scattered around her bases. Fortunately, like most of the other soldier-mercenaries she'd known, she was quite able to work through the milder doses of the illness, so the medicines were saved for the times when it hit her HARD; it would never have lasted otherwise. 

The scrape and clang of the cover falling back into place echoed, warning her that Snake was on his way down. He'd be jumpy, half expecting an ambush no doubt. Carefully Red made sure she was in the middle of the room, hands empty and in plain sight. Sure enough, Snake dropped the last section, landing in a crouch and immediately raising a gun in each hand. Only once he was satisfied that it was safe did he straighten and put up his weapons.

"Such trust." She commented sarcastically. "I'm touched." He glared.

"The cure." She rolled her eyes.

"In here." Deliberately she turned her back on him and walked through a wide doorway into a second, smaller room. Snake followed silently, recognising the purpose of the room immediately. It wasn't hard to guess, with the glass-faced cabinet in the corner, and the mesh 'lockers' or 'cages' to either side of the table in the centre, that this was a 'negotiations' room. Two interested parties would meet in one of these rooms when both sides were wary of the other. For a final deal the object or objects under negotiation would be displayed openly in the cabinet, whilst each side would lock their weapons in a 'cage' and swap keys. Once the deal was finalised the objects from the cabinet would either remain there, or be passed to the interested party. Both sides would swap keys again and retrieve their weapons, or, if there was no trust between the two, would simply leave with their weapons in the lockers - they were easy enough to break out, given a pair of wire cutters and a few minutes work, but not easy enough to break out to make the system break down.

"We use the lockers." He decided. Red's surprised expression was expected - he seemed to be giving up an advantage by insisting on disarming - but she acquiesced without a murmur. Snake, however, knew he was actually making the playing field a little more level. Red was just as fast as he was, if not a little faster, as demonstrated by the knife she'd managed to pull on him in their earlier altercation. Of course, he didn't HAVE to get as close as he had done that time - that had been his mistake - but with throwing knives that were no doubt tipped with whatever nasty substances she could get her hands on, neither did Red really. Plus, with throwing knives being slower than a gun, she would be on more of a hair-trigger reaction than him - if they were both disarmed, there was a lower chance of any unfortunate accidents occurring. He was quite aware that weapons were likely the first thing through the room's second narrow door - also standard - but she would have to reach them first.

They tossed the keys to each other simultaneously, and carefully tucked them into a secure pocket each - 'losing' a locker key was bad form, even if you never intended to swap them back. Snake glanced over at the cabinet, eyes narrowing at the displayed bottle of capsules and glass of water - either she'd had them waiting, or...or what? When had she had the time to grab either of them?

"I always have water in here." She answered the unasked question, clearly understanding his suspicious glare at the cabinet's contents. "The cure was just through there." She waved in the direction of the second doorway. "I DID say I had a few doses 'lying around'." Snake got the distinct impression that he was missing some vital piece of information.

"Will the tracer pick up the cure?" Red raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to show her the device in question. Her fingertips were cold as they gripped his wrist and hand, pulling it into a better angle for her to see the tracer, the icy touch bringing back memories he'd tried his best to leave behind him...

* * *

"Stop being a wuss and strip already!" Red demanded, hands on hips and impatient expression on her face. "Maybe it's not impossible to treat a shoulder wound on your own, but it's a damn sight easier and more efficient to accept help if it's available." There were sympathetic snickers from several of the others in the barracks, but they fell silent quickly as Red rounded on them with a glare - it didn't do to offend the most competent medic in the team after all, much less so when she existed in a semi-permanent state of PMS. Besides, it wasn't as if anyone, at some point, hadn't gone through the same thing, or the more bizarre reverse process when SHE was demanding one of them lend HER a hand with an injury. In many cases it was the reverse process that was more awkward, since she seemed to have absolutely no issues - moral or otherwise - with stripping down to access the injury. 

That wasn't to say that she COULDN'T cope on her own, in fact, her field bandages - consisting of heavy duty waterproof tape more often than not - were usually faster and more effective than anything taught in standard training. Hurt like hell later of course, but pain later was far preferable to bleeding out whilst on a mission.

"Down Red, I give in already." Amusement coloured Snake's words, and a faint smile graced his lips - uncommon, but not completely out of character. Everyone studiously ignored her too-loud mutters about dealing with testosterone-laden men and their injuries - there wasn't really anything safe to say about it, including laughing, unless they WANTED to get into a fight.

Her touch, as ever, was cold, causing the muscles under her fingers to tremble in protest, pulling at the wound. That, she would say anytime anyone complained, proved that the nerves weren't damaged, well, not permanently. Muttering to herself - a commentary that Snake didn't really pay much attention to - Red grabbed half a dozen butterfly bandages and the bottle of surgical spirit that was nearly empty, yet again.

"Brace yourself." She warned.

* * *

"...Snake?" He blinked back to the present at the snap of fingers, finding that his wrist had been released, and Red was watching him with a mix of mild concern and amusement. 

"Well?" She rolled her eyes at his growl.

"It's just a standard timer/tracer that lets them know if you're alive or not and where you are - a good knock tends to put the tracer mechanism out of commission whilst leaving the timer active." It sounded like she was speaking from experience. Not taking his eyes off her face, Snake brought his wrist sharply down on the surface of the table.

* * *

'TERMINATED' The red dot indicating Snake Plissken's position in LA vanished. Brazen turned away from the monitoring station to alert her superior. The President was standing, staring at nothing, his hands clasped in the prayer position before him. She ignored him, leaning slightly to one side to speak around him to the commander. 

"Plissken's tracer just went down." The President looked up at her in a mix of consternation and shock.

"Terminated?" Malloy questioned, sounding slightly surprised himself.

"Yes Sir. We can't even locate him on heat seek - he's wearing stealth." Her tone was wry, but matter-of-fact.

"Now what?" The President demanded.

"We sit tight and we wait for the man to communicate with us." Malloy decided firmly. He wouldn't believe Plissken was dead until the deadline passed - and even then he wouldn't believe it without seeing a corpse or some vital organ, such as the head, that could be identified as Plissken's. It was highly probable that he'd gotten into a fight and bounced the tracer hard off something - such as someone's head - and an interruption on their part might not only be unwelcome, it might disrupt any plan being carried out.

"Wait? For how long? He's probably dead." The President pointed out.

"Wait, Mr President. Be patient." Malloy chided gently. He wasn't afraid to reprimand the President, not here, where the loyalty of everyone around was primarily to him. Besides, he knew his job, and in this kind of situation, it was to prevent the cock-ups his superiors might try to make.

* * *

"The cure?" He asked after a minute of silence - Malloy either thought he was dead or had the brains not to act hastily. 

"We have a deal?" She asked in return, holding out her right hand. He spat into the palm of his own right hand, and clasped hers with it, shaking firmly once.

"We have a deal." He agreed. She nodded, released his hand and stood. When she returned to the table with the glass of water and a familiar-looking capsule, he frowned suspiciously. Still, she stood to gain nothing by poisoning him...but tricking him into thinking he was cured? To get out he'd still have to make the deadline after all. He stared at her, unblinking, watching for anything that might indicate treachery. There was nothing. Snake debated, and decided she could probably be trusted more than Malloy and his lackeys.

"Bit late in the game to start having second thoughts." Red pointed out calmly. Ignoring the glass of water, he picked up the capsule, feeling it give slightly under pressure. The red and yellow seemed familiar, but didn't ring any alarm bells, so he placed it in his mouth and let it begin to dissolve. Moments later he shot to his feet, choking slightly on the dry powder as he swallowed in an effort to clear his mouth of the all too recognisable taste. Red was also on her feet, backing away as he approached, looking wary but not terrified.

* * *

He'd recognised it...damn...not that she'd thought he WOULDN'T, but still... He was the physically stronger of the two of them - biology working against her - she remembered, suddenly realising she'd instinctively backed in the wrong direction. Depending how pissed he was, she could be well and truly buggered now. 

"Did you think I wouldn't recognise FLU medicine?!" Snake snarled, eye blazing furiously at her.

"What do you know about Plutoxin Seven Snake?" She countered, backing into a wall. He loomed over her, four inches difference in height suddenly making a LOT of difference.

"Genetically engineered. Shuts down the nervous system, crash and bleed out." He repeated the salient points that he'd been given before they told him he'd been infected already. Red snorted.

"That sounds more like Ebola to me. How long did they say you had?" He glowered, pinning her arms to the wall at the elbow, and not leaving her enough room to be able to kick effectively. The situation might have been intimate...if not for the threat of violence pervading the air.

"Less than ten hours - at least one of which you seem to have wasted..." His grip tightened.

"THINK Snake." Only a slight catch in her voice betrayed the fact that Red was in any pain. "Nothing powerful enough to kill you in ten hours - not through haemorrhaging anyway - would give you such mild symptoms for the rest of the time!" Her muscles tensed, and Snake reacted without thinking, half-turning and slamming his hip into her stomach and abdomen. Red exhaled sharply, coughing, but forced herself to speak again through the coughs. "Nothing that powerful, would be non-infectious, enough to have you, openly walking, through, deportation base." She wheezed, panting for breath as her diaphragm strained against his weight. She had a point, but then who was to say something hadn't been created after her deportation?

"So what are you saying?" He eased off some of the pressure of his hip, allowing her to breathe a little easier, but didn't move away completely.

"Plutoxin Seven is nothing more than hard-hitting version of the flu - it was a FAILURE. The government hyped it up originally, but the myth only holds because anyone with the intelligence to realise it's a lie has either been deported, killed, or paid off."

"How do I know you're not lying to save your skin?" She glared at him.

"Map to the Stars Eddie can confirm it - he used to be a professional spin doctor." She smirked. "Couldn't keep his mouth shut bragging about certain facts, landed himself a one-way ticket here. Carjack Malone's got himself set up as 'Hershe Las Palmas' - sex change and all - he can confirm it too. There are probably others, I wouldn't know, it's not exactly been important to know who knows." Snake considered for a moment. The story about Eddie fitted with his memories of his own encounter with him, and Carjack had always had an almost unhealthy obsession with uncovering the truth behind the latest government spin. Besides, he was familiar with the symptoms of flu, and they DID match with the headache he currently had, and the cough threatening to start...

"I've never lied to you Snake." Red added after a few minutes of silence. Unfortunately it seemed like it was exactly the wrong thing to say at that moment, because his grip tightened and the pressure on her midsection increased again.

"Not lied to me?" He hissed, as close as she'd ever seen him to berserker without actually crossing the line. "What the fuck do you call Phoenix?" Her eyes narrowed as she allowed her own anger to build, adrenaline flooding her body in expectation of violence.

"If you wanted an exclusive relationship, you should have TOLD me." She spat back. Then she sneered, an ugly expression. "After all, you can take the WHORE out of the platoon, but you can't take the platoon out of the WHORE."

"Evidently not." Snake growled in agreement. "So why aren't you shacked up with Carjack - or did he lose his attraction when he lost his dick?" Venom laced his words. Unable to slap or kick him, Red did the next best thing - she spat in his face.

"You never asked me if I was fucking anyone else. Why should I have told you when you never wanted to know in the past?" She demanded hotly. "You ASKED me to join your 'gang' after the platoon was disbanded - what the FUCK was I SUPPOSED to think I was there for?" Snake's only response was to draw her arms over her head, where he pinned them at the wrist with one hand, using the other to slowly wipe her spittle off his face.

* * *

It hadn't occurred to him immediately, but after Plissken's tracer died, Malloy had, out of curiosity, pulled the file on the name Plissken had dropped in their last conversation - 'Red'. It was a...full...file. Apparently she had been one of a bunch of SAS soldiers from the UK on an exchange program with American Special Forces. She was the youngest of the group, but reputed to be exceptionally skilful - hence her inclusion in the program. When she applied to join the SF medical training program it was initially turned down...until she threatened to cause an international diplomatic incident. When she passed the course in record time and with a record score, despite her gender, she was summarily 'transferred' to Delta Force, remaining there when the rest of the exchange program returned to the UK. Not a year later she was attached to Black Flight troop as Combat Medic and Interrogator, also specialising in Stealth, Poisons and Blade weaponry. 

The file at that point became a little ambiguous, but reading between the lines, Malloy felt fairly certain that the 'threatened international diplomatic incident' had actually been the revenge of a victim using the crime to her own advantage. Given that she was female, and most likely seen as 'encroaching' on a 'male only' preserve, it was highly probable that she had been raped, possibly group raped, and also possibly repeatedly.

The transcript of the interrogation where she had gained the moniker "Red" gave an insight into a twisted and borderline psychotic personality. She had conducted the interrogation alone - counter to regulations, although that wasn't unusual in the Special Forces units - and had allegedly used every weapon at her disposal to extract the information, including her own body. She had kept the prisoner alive for six days of near-constant torture, at the end of which she had skinned him alive. The room, and her, had been bathed in 'red' blood that 'rained' from the ceiling.

It was noted towards the end of the military section of her file, that she was suspected to have been in full sexual relationships with everyone in Black Flight troop, and possibly others from other SF troops. The absence of names was telling - Malloy had little doubt that she had been used as a whore amongst the SF troops, and their commanding officers.

She had been captured on the mission that had gained Plissken his second purple heart, but had managed to escape and make her way back to the base of operations before the end of the Siberia offensive, although not until after Plissken's aborted attempt to glide to Canada in a Gulfire. Strangely there was nothing of her debrief from that mission, suggesting that she had once again used her unique leverage to hush it up. Like the rest of the 12 Black Flight survivors of the Siberia offensive, "Red" had taken her leave of the Special forces after their Lieutenant was discharged, and had, along with eight others, formed a mercenary 'gang' working freelance.

The next big incident had been an altercation in Phoenix, Arizona, the details of which were unknown, but had resulted in the death of "Fox" Montoya and the break up of the group. She had vanished off the radar then, until surfacing again in 2003, ten years later, and virtually asking to be deported to LA. As such a security risk, she had been escorted in under closer guard than Plissken, and fitted with one of the first tracer devices - albeit without a timer. The tracer had gone dead two days later, somewhere in the Malibu area, and Plissken's mention of her was the first that had been heard since.

Malloy had only been Commander of Firebase Seven for eight, going on nine, years; it had been his predecessor who'd overseen "Red's" incarceration - there were no notes other than the logs recording a day of increased security level. Still, security HAD been increased, and whilst without medals - unsurprising for a female, dual nationality soldier - her military career had been beyond exceptional. Added to the comments Plissken had when complaining about her, and there was suddenly a whole new, and largely unknown, player in the game. Well, as he'd told the President earlier, they would just have to sit tight and wait...

* * *

He'd gone past the point of violent, berserk anger when she'd spat in his face. Now he was in a calm white lake of fury that he'd only ever tapped into in the past, when cornered by his enemies. But that didn't mean he'd lost the capability to rationalise or listen - it was a cold anger, cold and hard and sharp as steel. He'd had twenty years to mull over the unwanted memories after all, this argument had simply ripped the scabs off an old and festering wound. It seemed so stupid now, but then...

* * *

He'd turned the job down; something just didn't feel RIGHT about it...it felt, THIN, as Carjack would say. It meant they were going to have to stretch the money from their last payoff a little further than they'd anticipated, but whilst irritating, it was no big deal. They were out from under the Army's thumb, even if they were still under their eye, and they had proven that they COULD change their lives still, that freedom COULD still be found. So when he walked into the rundown house where they were based, and found Fox screwing Red over a table, just as he would so often walk into Black Flight's barracks and find Red being screwed by someone over, on or against something, he snapped.

* * *

He'd gone from mild irritation to full-out berserker, killing Fox even as his former team-mate had greeted him, and only Red's quick reactions stopping him from doing the same to her. He'd screamed at her to get out and find a job that didn't involve whoring herself to every man she came across, before adding that the group was history and storming out without looking back. He didn't know what she'd told the others when they returned, but he hadn't spoken to any of them until he sought out Harold Hellman for his chemicals expertise for a job in Kansas City. Bastard had run out on him then, but he'd caught up to him in'97 in New York, and had the pleasure of seeing him blow himself sky high as they attempted to escape. It had been another four years after Kansas City that he'd next sought out a former team-mate, Taylor, this time for his electronics expertise. Taylor had been shot by the police as they attempted to make their escape, refusing to put down the payoff to the very end. That loss had been fresh in his mind when he'd crossed paths with Harold in New York. 

Then, five years ago, he had sought out Carjack and Texas Mike O'Shea - the last former Black Flight members who'd still been alive and 'free'. Texas had died as everything went to hell, and Cleveland had become a disaster that he still couldn't quite believe he'd escaped - no thanks to Carjack, who'd bolted, but who, if Red's information was correct, had landed himself in LA...

"You were there for the same reason the rest of us were." His voice was quiet enough that she had to strain to hear it. "You were there to get out from under the government's thumb...the government's control..." He glared at her as his voice began to rise. "That meant you DIDN'T have to fuck ANYONE, ANYWHERE, ANYTIME!" The look of mildly surprised understanding and pity that she gave him was somehow a harsher blow than when she had spat at him.

"I was whored around the entire SF for over a year before you even joined, and around Black Flight and the SF CO's right up until I left." She told him softly. "Why should I care what happens to my body? It's just a flesh puppet that responds to my will." He could see the insanity in her eyes, a light that, now he recognised it for what it was, had been there as long as he'd known her. His anger melted away as if it had never been, replaced by a faint sense of horror, and renewed doubt.

"And I'm supposed to trust you about the Plutoxin Seven 'only being the flu'?" She shrugged as well as she could with her arms still pinned over her head.

"You'll need to get back within the deadline whether I'm right or wrong. How much time do you have left?" He glanced at the timer on his wrist.

"Just over five hours." She nodded.

"I can lead you through the sewers to the other side of Beverly Hills; it won't get you all the way to Cuervo Jones' place, but you'll be closer, and you'll get there faster than if you try to go around the Surgeon General's hunting grounds." Snake nodded warily, backing away and releasing her wrists, half expecting her to throw herself at him in some strange bid for revenge. Red simply let her arms drop, rotating her shoulders and rubbing her wrists to restore blood circulation. "Here." She threw the locker key back to him. After a moment's thought, he returned the favour, leaving her to rearm herself whilst he did the same on the other side of the room.

* * *

They walked in a silence that wasn't quite comfortable until Red indicated they had reached their destination. 

Snake emerged onto a street devoid of life, and, out of long-forgotten habit, offered his arm to assist Red's ascent onto the street. They both froze, Snake as he felt her cold touch on his arm once more, and Red as she felt his muscles suddenly tense up.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, pulling her hand back and refusing to meet his eye. Cursing himself, but refusing to say anything one way or the other, Snake grabbed her upper arm and pulled, forcing her to accept the assistance or risk tumbling them both back down into the sewer. "Cuervo Jones' place is down that way." She gestured through the short underpass, still refusing to meet his eye. "Get off at the Vermont exit, go South. You can't miss it. It's a dangerous route, Korean Dragon territory, but I'm sure you can make it." He nodded and, after a moments awkward silence, began walking in the direction she had indicated. "Snake?" He paused and half turned back towards her. "I think...I could have changed...for you...if I had known that I was supposed to..."

"Then change."

* * *

Events seemed to take a surreal turn after they parted, or maybe that was just a lingering side effect of the drugs cocktail Map to the Stars Eddie had managed to hit him with. Captured by Cuervo, losing his coat, holoprojector and guns in the process, only to escape after beating the 'impossible' basketball game - and wasn't HE thankful that it was merely a stricter variation on the basketball practices he'd used to put himself though in high school - then getting his hands on the black box, only to lose it after getting shot in the leg by, of all people, Eddie. It hadn't stopped there. He'd surfed for the first time in his life, down Wiltshire Boulevard, only to leap from his board into a car driven by, yet again, EDDIE - although he'd at least gotten his hands on a gun again. Carjack's new persona - and gender - hadn't come as a surprise thanks to Red, and, as she had also said he would be able to, Carjack had unwittingly confirmed that all he was suffering from was a nasty bout of the flu. And now...now, in the company of Carjack - or Hershe as he was insisting he be called - and a team of backup, they were about to attack a man with, as Hershe had put it, 'more firepower than two armies'...and he'd thought RED was insane... 

Eddie was currently providing what would hopefully be an effective distraction by flying with every ounce of skill he had - barely enough to keep him airborne - and attempting to land in Cuervo's presence. As long as he landed without breaking his head or his jaw, Snake was quite certain the self-titled 'representative' could keep Cuervo talking and all eyes on him for long enough for the rest of them to get into position for the attack.

There was already a government chopper on the ground, a familiar model from his SF days, and its presence had settled any of Car...HERSHE'S remaining doubts, despite the government pilots already having been dragged out and killed. They were ready...and, he glanced at the situation on the ground, Eddie was still alive and the centre of attention. A glance at his timer showed just under twenty minutes remaining - it was time to get this show on the road.

Right on cue gunfire burst out below as panicked and trigger-happy men reacted to Eddie's false alarm. Snake nodded to Hershe, and began a steep descent into the square, just in time for his first grenade to save Eddie from Cuervo's wrath. The others were close behind him, and all hell broke out; a familiar hell for him. Flinging a few more grenades into groups of Cuervo's fighters, he sprayed those with the sense to split up with the sub-machine gun he'd picked out of Hershe's arsenal. Attempting to shoot accurately from a hanglider was a lost cause, so quantity and luck were the next best thing.

One of the backup team ran out of grenades and landed in order to better use his gun. Spotting Cuervo making a run for it with the President's daughter, Snake brought the hanglider down, slamming into the Cuervo's shoulders and knocking him and the girl to the ground. But Cuervo recovered faster than he'd expected, and barely was he detached from the hanglider but Cuervo was slamming bodily into him. Off balance and with an injured leg, Snake staggered backwards for a few paces before collapsing with Cuervo on top. The Cuban landed four solid punches before Snake managed to heave his leg up and kick him in the head, simultaneously knocking Cuervo over and breaking them apart.

Taking advantage of their change in situation, Snake managed to get Cuervo into a headlock, only to be fiercely elbowed in the kidneys - a move he REALLY should have anticipated. Still he clung on...until Cuervo managed to elbow him directly in the gunshot wound in his leg. Headlock broken as his muscles spasmed, Cuervo added insult - and further injury - to injury, by rolling over and sinking his teeth into the aggravated wound. Snake screamed, then grabbed a handful of the Cuban's hair and ripped him away from the wound, punching him and knocking him back before scrambling awkwardly to his feet. Cuervo, once again, recovered faster than Snake anticipated, tackling him backwards again - this time into a truck - before snatching a knife from his belt and slashing a diagonal line across Snake's chest.

Dodging Cuervo's somewhat wild swings, Snake managed to backhand him in the face, dodge the following sweep of the knife at his midsection, and then grab the arm holding the knife on its reverse swing. Brutally he slammed it into Cuervo's face, then, equally brutally, twisted it backwards - the crunching sound suggested something had either broken, fractured or dislocated - using it as leverage to slam the Cuban into the tail of the truck. Stunned, Cuervo slumped to his knees, and Snake took advantage of the lack of resistance to further twist his already damaged right arm, finishing by punching the knife to the ground. Cuervo attempted to rise again as Snake punched him in the face, a move Snake turned to his advantage by bending him over and kneeing him twice in the abdomen.

Hanging onto the loose jacket the Cuban was wearing, Snake used it to spin him around, increasing his disorientation, before landing a few more punches for good measure - dodging a wild swing in the process - and then proceeding to inflict the same treatment on Cuervo's left arm that he had the right...or starting to. Cuervo had pulled the remote from his pocket, and as Snake went for the remote, Cuervo's free right hand went for Snake's throat. They struggled, deadlocked, until they were forcefully blown apart by the nearby explosion of a grenade.

The remote dropped to the floor, almost exactly halfway between the two stunned men.

They stirred at the same moment, each realising they didn't have the remote. It became a race, Snake hampered by his injured leg, Cuervo hampered by his continuing dizziness. They scrabbled awkwardly and slowly across the ground, beneath the notice of the running, fighting people all around them. They reached the remote at the same moment, but Snake, his arms uninjured, unlike Cuervo, snatched it from beneath the Cuban's hand. The success and the sense that time was running out gave him the adrenaline he needed to scramble to his feet, knocking Cuervo out for the moment with a powerful kick to his head. Clutching the remote and his injured thigh, Snake hurried towards the chopper.

* * *

Time was fast running out - she could almost feel it slipping past her. Or perhaps that was just the cool night breeze brushing past her and urging her to take to the air already. She resisted the temptation. Despite having been in Black Flight, she hadn't used a hanglider in over twenty years, and she'd barely been proficient with them back then. Unlike Snake and Carjack, and several of the others, who could stay in the air for what seemed like days, she would be breaking all her previous records if she could get from Hollywood to the mainland. She wanted no annoying distractions - like searchlights and snipers - to tip the odds out of her favour...not that they were in them to start with, but still...

* * *

The President had, unable to flee the area, fled to his quarters in the base instead. He claimed he was going to pray, and whilst Malloy thought the man's faith was strong enough to prevent a suicide attempt, he'd still sent Brazen after him to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. In the worst case scenario they'd need a scapegoat anyway.

* * *

"Come on, hurry up! Let's go!" Eddie screamed over the gunfire, gesturing at Snake to hurry up. He didn't need the encouragement, not when he was heading for the only safe - bullet-proof - place in the area and happened to be unarmed. Carj...HERSHE and the backup team had already begun to fall back to the chopper, but Snake added his own encouragement anyway. 

"Get inside the chopper. It's bullet-proof." Before spotting a very familiar coat on a corpse next to the chopper. "I'll take my coat back now, asshole." He muttered, roughly divesting the corpse of its stolen apparel. He didn't spare the time to put it on, simply bundling it up on the pilot's seat and half sitting on it. One of the backup team went down as fire intensified on the chopper, but Snake didn't care, he could almost taste 'freedom'.

The co-pilot's door suddenly cracked open as the President's daughter scurried through the fighting to 'safety'. Absorbed in his hasty pre-flight checks, Snake didn't spare her a glance.

"Please take me back Snake." She pleaded over the whine and clung of the rotor blades re-expanding and beginning to spin.

"Secure the latch." He ordered curtly - arguing with her was just going to waste time. She turned to do as she was bidden, and whilst he waited anxiously for the blades to get up to speed, Snake examined the remote that he'd taken from Cuervo Jones.

"Oh you got the remote, great." Eddie popped up between the two front seats.

"Yeah, now give me the real one." Snake snarled, reaching for the control stick.

"Hey, I didn't make a switch." Eddie protested. Right hand on the stick, Snake grabbed Eddie by the collar with his other hand and twisted.

"Yes you did!" Utopia objected. "I saw you." Eddie twisted to face her - probably to deny it again - but she took advantage of his position to deftly pull out another remote from his jacket. Snake grabbed it with both hands, then roughly shoved Eddie into the back of the chopper. Quickly examining the remote, he decided it was indeed the genuine one, and stashed it safely in the front before grabbing the control stick and beginning to lift off.

They reached about a foot in height, then stopped moving, snarled on some obstruction.

"Dammit... Carjack, we're hooked up on your side." Snake decided after some experimental shifting. Hershe, either not noticing or simply not pointing out the use of her old name, leaned out of the chopper, efficiently sawing the rope in two with a burst of gunfire before ducking safely back inside. They began to move, Hershe and the backup team providing what suppressing fire they could whilst Snake concentrated on gaining enough altitude to clear the buildings on the far side of the square. Another backup team member was hit and fell from the chopper, reducing its weight, and also allowing Eddie to peer out in time to see Cuervo picking up a rocket launcher.

Eyes wide, Eddie snatched a spare rifle from the back of the chopper, and took a pot-shot at Cuervo that hit the Cuban directly in the chest, doubling him over. Grinning in triumph, Eddie laughed and dumped the rifle back into the chopper.

"I hit him!" He crowed, leaning out to watch his ex-boss's death. But Cuervo, as Snake had discovered during their fight, was not one to go down so easily. The Cuban grinned insanely, and raised the rocket launcher once more. "Whoa!" Eddie leapt out of the chopper as the rocket sped towards him, barely missing the awning of a former dentist's surgery to land painfully on its steps instead.

The rocket exploded in the back of the chopper, incinerating everyone in the rear instantly as Cuervo slumped to the ground. Utopia cringed, small enough to shield herself mostly with the chair. Snake cursed, rapidly dragging the heat - and fire - resistant coat on. The chopper wasn't going to stay in the air long - it had barely scraped over the mountain as it was...

* * *

"Aircraft entering quadrant four, Sir." A technician suddenly yelled. "I'm getting radio contact." 

"Boost it." Malloy ordered.

"Malloy." Snake's voice wheezed over the sound of crackling flames, followed by a harsh cough. "Get the antidote ready, assholes, I'm coming in!"

"This is Malloy, Plissken. Do you have the black box?" The President hovered anxiously over his shoulder, bible clasped in his hands.

"I got what was in it -" there was a faint sound of coughing in the background "- remote control unit and instruction disk -" more coughing "- get the trucks rolling, we're on fire." Alarms began sounding as the burning helicopter approached, and Malloy, Brazen and the President dashed outside.

'Neurosystem shut-down in two minutes, 27 seconds.' The countdown timer announced to the remaining technicians.

* * *

NOW! Red launched herself as the ball of fire that was the escape chopper neared Firebase Seven. It would take some time for Snake to do whatever he planned to do, but if she was right, it would result in a return to the dark ages. She snickered quietly to herself. There was plenty of work for people with their skills in a modern world suddenly deprived of everything that made it 'modern'.

* * *

"Shit! Shit!" Snake cursed and Utopia screamed as a burst of flame licked between their seats, scorching them. Passing straight over the base - wouldn't THAT get their knickers in a twist - he brought the chopper down low and decreased its speed to near stalling point. "Get ready to jump." He warned Utopia hoarsely. "Head for the tree line and disappear." He advised, glancing at her. "Go." He concentrated on keeping the chopper as close to the ground as he dared, knowing there were trees ahead he would have to avoid. "Go!" He repeated, more urgently, as she continued to sit there dumbly. As she finally turned away and pushed open the door, he quickly slipped the fake remote into her jacket pocket, praying she wouldn't lose it as she landed. She bailed with a yell, and he immediately hauled upwards on the stick, finding it nowhere near as responsive as he needed. 

Grabbing the real remote, he fought the chopper's descent one-handed whilst unfastening the latch on his door. With a last upwards heave that made no difference to the doomed chopper's trajectory, Snake hurled himself out and into the air. He and the chopper hit the ground at the same time, barely enough distance between them to save him from the fierce heat of the explosion. Forcing himself to his feet, Snake headed away from the crash at right-angles to their flight path. He needed to put a decent distance between himself and the accident before he activated the holoprojector, just in case they caught on too soon.

* * *

They arrived just in time to see Snake limp from the blazing ruins of the chopper. Bastard had to be grateful for the clothing now, Malloy thought wryly. 

"Oh... Oh thank God almighty!" The President gushed in relief. "Thank God almighty! Welcome back, Sir."

"Give me the god damn shot." Snake snarled at them, unimpressed by the imbecilic look of amusement on the President's face. When there was no response from them, he hurriedly checked the timer on his wrist. 3...2...1...0...

'Your countdown clock has now terminated function. Your time is up.' The timer announced blandly. Red, Snake thought sourly, had not been lying - not that he'd really thought she had been after Carjack's unwitting confirmation. The President chuckled lowly.

"I told you he was dumb." He remarked to Malloy and Brazen, the latter of whom was grinning widely at him.

"You took the fake, hotshot." Malloy stated blandly, no trace of victory in his voice.

"Plutoxin Seven is a fast, hard-hitting case of the flu." Brazen confirmed, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice, or the smile off her face.

"Pretty good." Snake granted, grudgingly.

"Relax war hero." The President drawled. "We took you for a little ride, and you came through." Snake's eye narrowed. A LITTLE RIDE? Oh, he'd give the bastard 'a little ride' - assuming someone didn't beat him to it. "Now, give me that unit." Suppressing his coughs, Snake leaned and retrieved the remote from his boot, never taking his eye off the three standing in front of him. If Malloy wasn't the suspicious bastard he had him pegged as, and if his men weren't as efficient as they seemed, he would need to start running very fast, very shortly. At least he had the consolation - scant as it was - that they couldn't track him whilst he was wearing the stealth gear.

"You want this thing?" Snake growled, holding it in front of him. "Come and get it." The threat was clear, but the President, either convinced that he was safe, or just not thinking about anything except retrieving his precious remote, started towards him.

"Sir..." Malloy stopped him with a hand on his arm. Good boy Malloy, Snake thought, be the paranoid bastard I know you are...

"What can he do?" The President asked, smugly. Evidently the man had no imagination, because Snake could think of quite a few things he could do before they managed to take him down...if only the President came close enough.

"Let go of me! Quit it!" Right on cue Utopia's protesting voice cut the disagreement short. Snake suppressed a smirk. Malloy's men frogmarched Utopia over to one side, holding her captive between Snake and her father.

"You didn't finish the mission, Snake." The President's voice was detached, unemotional, but Malloy's expression was calculating. "Looks like I'll have to do it for you." Utopia had stopped struggling, stunned into immobility by her father's words. The President began walking slowly towards him again, intent on the remote, but Malloy's expression was one of sudden comprehension as he glanced between Utopia and him.

"Hold it, Mr President." Malloy ordered, striding over to Utopia and roughly patting her down. The President had obediently halted - something Snake filed away for later amusement value - and Snake allowed a trace of concern to bleed into his expression as he watched Malloy find, and extract, the fake remote from Utopia's pocket. Utopia's expression was a mix of horrified confusion and dawning comprehension as Malloy turned to Snake and shook the remote at him victoriously.

"Shit." Snake muttered. Malloy opened the remote, finding a disk with a red dot on it inside. He closed it again with a satisfied snap.

"We'll take this one." Utopia looked at him accusingly, and Snake let his arm fall to his side as Malloy presented the remote to the President.

"Get her out of here." The President ordered, not looking at his daughter.

"Daddy..." Utopia pleaded.

"Take her to the chair." He finished. She gaped at him in disbelief, too stunned to even attempt a vocal or physical protest as her guards marched her away. Snake watched her go, idly wondering whether events would finish playing out before or after she was fried - not that it really mattered to him. "For he so loved his country, he gave his only seditious child." Snake grimaced at the President's words. Why was it that politicians were always the worst? He had just callously sent his own daughter to the chair, and at the same time he was planning to milk the fact for public support... "Prepare to broadcast..." The President turned and began to walk towards the scurrying technicians. "...worldwide. Worldwide!" A sideways glance showed Malloy's face had returned to its normal expressionless state, with just a hint of...concern? Maybe Malloy could see the madness of a fanatic in the current President as well. The moment was broken as Malloy scratched his chin and turned towards him.

"She didn't know that she had that remote unit in her pocket, now did she?" Snake didn't answer, instead looking back over to where the President's podium was nearly complete. "I was wondering what kind of lame switch you'd try to pull this time, Plissken. You know, you're becoming VERY predictable." Malloy shook his head. Snake glanced at him, no expression on his face.

"Yeah, I guess so. You got a smoke?"

"The United States is a no-smoking nation." Snake nodded and waited for the rest, Malloy didn't disappoint. "No smoking, no drinking, no drugs, no women - unless of course you're married." Or have enough power and or discretion to get away with it, Snake added mentally. "No guns, no foul language, no red meat."

"Land of the free." Snake agreed sarcastically. Concentrating on the President, who had just stepped up to the podium.

"This is the President of the United States." His voice carried to where Malloy and Snake stood. "I now demand an immediate retreat of all forces now threatening this great nation. If my demand is not met immediately, I WILL destroy your ability to function permanently." Malloy finally glanced sideways and noticed that Snake had moved away, but the barest roll of his eyes suggested he thought nothing of it except that Snake objected to his proximity.

"Mr President, the Cuban theatre of aggression remains mobile. ETA Miami in four minutes." Brazen reported from a laptop to the side of the podium.

"Four minutes." The President repeated. "Bring the aiming co-ordinates for Cuba and Mexico online."

"Cuba: Seven, seven, nine." Brazen announced.

"Seven...seven...nine..." The President carefully punched the numbers into the remote and slid it closed. "I now render, this final solution." His finger descended on the confirmation button...

* * *

The defensive line was about five minutes away now, she estimated. The winds were a little stronger in her favour than she'd calculated, so she hoped things were going smoothly with whatever Snake had planned. It would be a shame to get this far and then get shot down just as the lights went out...

* * *

'Welcome to your very own map to the stars.' The President looked down at the remote in his hands in shock. 'Sure, we all know the big one wiped out the entertainment industry here in LA,' He looked up, expression at a loss, and glanced from side to side as though seeking an escape route - or a scapegoat. He found it as Malloy turned towards Plissken. 'But the glamour and excitement of Hollywood is still alive...' 

"Very funny." The President said coldly, silencing the recording. Snake nodded once, expression beginning to show a faint trace of contempt.

"Yeah." He agreed.

"I hope it was worth it," the President continued, "for now you ARE going to die."

"Everybody does." Snake pointed out calmly.

"Kill him..." The President ordered, sounding irritated by Plissken's calm acceptance. "And bring me, the REAL unit."

"Sir, we're still broadcasting." Brazen reminded him.

"Good!" The President announced vindictively. "Let them watch!" The camera technician obediently panned his camera around to face Malloy and the semi-circle of armed police who had Snake cornered in front of the chopper's still-burning wreckage. "Do it!" The President urged Malloy. "Do it!" He yelled again as Malloy, too reluctantly for his likely, turned to take command of the impromptu firing squad. He took his cap off and raised it in the air.

"On my command!" He called, watching the police level their weapons and listening to them load them. Snake continued to watch completely impassively. "Fire!" Malloy dropped his arm as he shouted the command, and the sound of gunfire split the air. Moments later it stopped, leaving a nonplussed President staring in disbelief at the unharmed Snake Plissken. Malloy had a similar look of disbelief on his face, but it seemed to be backed up by dawning suspicion, for he commandeered the rifle of the soldier next to him and, striding up to Snake, batted it THROUGH the holographic image.

"He's not even here!" Brazen yelled in dismay. "He's a hologram!"

"Catches on quick doesn't she." Snake, cheerfully for him, returned her earlier insult of him.

"He's got to be within a half-mile radius." Malloy turned away, brain clearly racing to decide the best search method. "Round up every available man."

"Hold it." Snake growled, pointedly holding up the real remote as Malloy turned back to face him.

"Sir, the enemy is less than two minutes from our shore." Brazen updated them.

"What's it to be Plissken? Us or them?" The President demanded from his podium.

"Shut down the Third World. They lose, you win. Shut down America...you lose, they win. The more things change, the more they stay the same." He'd made that mistake before, with the remnants of Black Flight. He'd changed the location, changed the rules...but he hadn't told them, and when he discovered he'd really changed nothing, he'd lost it completely.

"So what are you going to do?" The President asked, sounding defeated.

"Disappear." Snake stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Shifting his attention to the remote, he keyed in three sixes...the world code.

"He's entered the world code." Brazen announced, a tremor in her voice. "No target code..." She was starting to breathe faster, the pitch of her voice rising. The President and Malloy gaped at him in horror. "Sir, that will shut down the entire planet." Her voice broke.

"I told you you'd better hope I didn't make it back."

"You push that button, everything we've accomplished for the last 500 years will be finished. Our technology, our way of life, our entire history. We'll have to start all over again." Snake slowly closed the remote. Malloy should know better than to appeal to the altruistic side of him that didn't exist. "For God's sakes, don't do it Snake!" He lunged forwards, halting the reflexive action as he remembered that he was talking to a hologram. Snake looked up, glaring at him.

"The name's Plissken." He stabbed the confirmation button vindictively. Seconds later, the world went dark.

* * *

The spotlights on the defensive line died just before they caught her in their beams, giving the police forces in the base no target, and bigger things to worry about. Red grinned victoriously. She wouldn't know until Snake or experience confirmed it, but given a decision between Cuba, America or the World, she reckoned Snake would go for the jackpot. Aiming to the West of the burning chopper - suddenly the only landmark visible in the dark - Red began to attempt a controlled descent.

* * *

Snake considered the holographic projector for a moment, a useful little device, but useless now, like every other piece of electric-powered machinery. He tossed it and the dead radio to the ground. 'So what are you going to do?' The President's words echoed in his mind. Some twenty years ago he'd tried to change things...yet they'd stayed just the same. This time he'd upped the ante and changed his methods. This time he'd changed the very GAME, and he'd announced it in electronic darkness. 

There was a loud crash and what sounded like fabric tearing in the trees a little to the south. He snorted as a loud scream - a loud MALE scream - echoed in the night. It seemed that Red had just made her own successful escape from LA...and now the night was certainly no friend to the police. Closer inspection of the tree stump in front of him revealed a surprise bonus; a pack of smokes, ironically of the 'American Spirit' brand. Pulling a slim, dark cigarette out, Snake tucked the packet into his pocket and pulled out the stick matches Malloy had been kind enough to include in his survival kit. He struck one and lit the cigarette, staring into the flame as it burned down the match, waiting. That scream hadn't been far away from here.

The bushes rustled almost silently, as if they were caressed by the wind...except the air was still. He blew the flame out and paused, letting his eyes re-adjust to the darkness.

"Hn...welcome to the human race."

* * *

_'Madness took me,  
And I fell willingly,  
Into the darkness,  
Holding Death's hand.'  
_

* * *

ANs: Wow you made it to the end, congratulations. Unfortunately you don't win a prize...unless you'd like Red? She's free...no? Oh well... Feel free to review and complain about whatever, or praise it...praise is good... I'll get back to you if you leave an email address and/or login to leave it. Anonymous flamers I will a) warm my hands gratefully since it's damned cold here at the minute, and b) more than likely bitch back (politely of course) on my profile. Anonymous reviewers, rest assured I will have read your reviews and taken any constructive criticism into consideration (I don't bother changing minor errors though), any praise to heart, and any pointless negatives to the tip :P Below are my 'real' Authors Notes on my sources of information and some of the decisions I made in my writing. 

It is not a mistake when Red refers to Black Flight PLATOON where everyone else refers to it as UNIT or TROOP - it's a hangover from her British origins, and also a hint that she's not a Yank before Malloy pulls her file and reveals all.

Timelines became necessary once I was trying to figure out how it all fitted together. The canon 16 year gap between LA and NY was the biggest pain, since I originally planned to have Snake in his 20's, was willing to settle for mid 30's, and eventually got stuck with 40...not that I actually mention his age in it (or Red's, since she's the same age), but every time that blasted 20 year gap between 1993 and 2013 came up I winced - nothing like such a large mention of time passing to prompt the brain to consider the total age of the person in question. Well, that's how it works for me anyway.

The vast majority of my information on American Army recruitment and training procedures, their SF recruitment, training procedures and structure, Delta Force speculated recruitment etc., plus the same information on the British Army, and SAS came from Wikipedia. I was stricter with Snake's timelining since there's more canon information on him (well duh, Red's an original character o.O), but aside from a scary aptitude for learning and combat, Red's timelining isn't entirely unbelievable...well, except for the whole 'completion of 46 week (11 month) medical course in half a year'...unless she's a medical genius, which she could well be, or had already covered a lot of the material, again not impossible, that one's pretty far out. I suspect the means by which she arrives in and then remains in America's SF is also pretty flimsy, but I tried not to dwell on it; she's there, she's originally a Brit, deal with it.

Gliding...again, not something I know a hell of a lot about, but Wikipedia again came to the rescue (as did a km-mile converter and several maps), and allowed me to conclude that yes, if the winds were good (we'll assume they are with artistic license and backup from references in both films), and the pilots VERY good (again, SF unit 'Black FLIGHT' is suggesting to me that they specialise in flight with gliders etc.), then the operation in Siberia (where Snake gets one of his purple hearts), could have been staged from somewhere near the middle of Alaska, making Canada both in range and the requisite 180 degrees from the actual supposed direction of flight, as stated in Escape from NY.

'Snake's' Timeline

late 1993 onwards, 1988 and 1991 (no specific time in the year) dates are accurate from Escape from LA and NY, the age (bold) is the youngest I could make Snake whilst fitting into a semi-believable timeline.  
All other dates are loosely based on canon information (e.g. the two purple hearts for Leningrad and Siberia), or extrapolated as a theory behind Snake's background (e.g. his ability at basketball, or the 'Phoenix incident' in mid 1993)

2013 - 'NOW' (Escape from LA) **age 40**  
2008 - 'Cleveland' (Ref. Escape from LA; Carjack Malone aka. Hershe Las Palmas)  
1997 - '16 years ago' (Escape from NY, attempted robbery of Federal Reserve Depository, Taylor killed)  
1993 - late 'Kansas City' (Ref. Escape from NY; Harold "Brain" Hellman)  
1993 - mid Phoenix, Arizona; an altercation sees Snake's mercenary gang disband and "Fox" Montoya killed  
1993 - early Black Flight troop disbanded after Lieutenant SD "Snake" Plissken is 'dishonourably' discharged  
1992 - late Russian missions; Siberia (purple heart; 12 Black Flight lost), Siberia (Snake attempts to glide to Canada)  
1992 - mid "Snake" Plissken takes command of Black Flight troop (20 members)  
1992 - early "Snake" Plissken promoted to Lieutenant and recruited into Delta Force  
1991 - late Russian mission; Leningrad (purple heart; only survivor of SF team)  
1991 - US Police Force formed  
1991 - early "Snake" Plissken completes SF training specialising in covert/aerial operations  
1990 - early SD Bob Plissken successfully completes high school aged 17, joins the marines and enrols in SF training  
1989 - Bob Plissken narrowly misses out on a college Basketball scholarship  
1988 - crime rate in US rises 400pc, NY becomes prison

'Red's' Timeline

As Red is an original character (one I hope people didn't dislike/hate too much), her history is a bit less plausible than Snakes. She's highly intelligent, possibly to the point of genius, since they say there's a fine line between genius and insanity (one which events seem to have tipped her over at some point).

2013 - 'NOW' (Escape from LA) **age 40**  
2003 - "Red" Reyne deported to LA under high guard for multiple 'Immoral Crimes' since 1993  
1993 - mid "Red" leaves "Snake's" 'gang' after an altercation in Phoenix, Arizona, in which "Fox" Montoya is killed  
1993 - early Black Flight troop disbanded after Lieutenant SD "Snake" Plissken is 'dishonourably' discharged  
1992 - late Russian mission; Siberia (captured but managed to escape and rejoin unit)  
1992 - mid "Red" Reyne meets "Snake" Plissken for the first time  
1992 - early Rebecca "Red" Reyne gains her nickname after a particularly brutal interrogation  
1991 - late Rebecca Reyne joins Black Flight troop as Combat Medic and Interrogator, also specialising in stealth and blade weaponry, she is granted dual British/American citizenship  
1991 - mid Rebecca Reyne completes the medical course in record time with a record score and is summarily 'transferred' and 'attached' to Delta Force  
1991 - early Rebecca Reyne is part of an SAS/SF exchange program, her application to join SF medical training is accepted in the interests of avoiding a diplomatic incident  
1990 - Rebecca Reyne enters and passes Selection into the full SAS  
1989 - Rebecca Reyne successfully completes high school and joins the British Army 21 SAS Territorial Unit age 16


End file.
